Old Scars
by Syrinx
Summary: What, you don’t believe in the random coincidence?


**Old Scars**  
By Syrinx  
Rating: T  
Disclaimer: I do not profess to own Red Eye, nor the characters.  
Summary: What, you don't believe in the random coincidence?

Some people said the Waldorf Astoria was all old style elegance. Others said it was an overpriced Super 8. Whatever the case, Lisa never had the chance to form an opinion on the world-famous hotel before she'd been roped into speaking at the AH&LA Fall Conference. Staying at the Waldorf was complimentary, but after the second day of training and education sessions, inaugural galas, and Women in Lodging Council meetings, Lisa had to admit to herself that staying out of her hotel room was far more comfortable than staying in it.

Thanks to her newfound status as key note speaker at the Opening Reception, Lisa found herself spending most of her time outside her hotel room, which was both a blessing and something of a curse. Most invitation only meetings were open to her, and while Lisa did categorize herself as a people person it was only at 12:30am after the Hospitality Ball that she decided to give her people pleasing inclinations a break.

She'd come to New York City for the annual American Hotel and Lodging Association fall conference, a duty she'd never been through before. The painful truth of her attendance was that Flight 1019 had brought her to this spotlight, and it had taken several phone calls and pleading meetings with Lux Atlantic higher ups to convince Lisa to accept.

People person or not, Lisa had never been a spotlight kind of girl. The attention brought upon her hotel and her person had never sat quite right with her after everything had been said and done. The Lux Atlantic, however, said otherwise to her insistence on maintaining her life as it had been, and just like that she'd been sent north to New York for a conference Lisa had to admit she hadn't been all too prepared for.

It went without saying that two full days of hospitality seminars, all which tended to either start or end with her harrowing ordeal from only three months previous, had been draining. Lisa had managed to get through it with a smile on her face, but had to admit that breathing the chilled November air as she walked north on Park Avenue was a reprieve compared to the stifling celebrity status she had accidentally acquired in her field.

Unfortunately, she hadn't chosen the best walking shoes. Nor dress, for that matter. After the Hospitality Ball, an invitation only event she had gained admittance to and an expectation that she would attend because of her Fresh Air flight from Texas, she'd skipped out of the hotel before one other person could corral her into talking about things she wished had never happened. That hadn't allowed time for a change of clothes. So it was that Lisa found herself walking along a New York street in a forest green evening gown and cashmere shawl, a small satin purse she'd picked out just for the dress dangling from her arm.

She could see her breath in the early morning hours, and it vaguely occurred to her that perhaps she shouldn't be walking around in a big city by herself in high heels with nothing but pepper spray in her purse. That was when the warm yellow lights of a nearby bar caught her eye, and Lisa made the split decision to duck inside, preferring to loosen up with vodka and warmth rather than walking uncomfortably through the cold.

Settling herself at the bar, Lisa pulled together all her dark green skirts and smiled at a waiting bartender. The place was crowded, but walking up to the bar made up as Lisa was tended to grab attention.

"Vodka martini," she ordered, and settled back to watch the bartender work. Moments later a cold crystal glass was placed in front of her, trembling alcohol lapping at its sides, with an olive suspended in the liquid. Lisa smiled thankfully and paid with cash.

Vodka always had a way of clearing her head. One drink and she was peacefully somewhere else, thinking of different things rather than what was offered up to her at present. Lisa wasn't a lightweight, but she wasn't a drinker either, so she cleared her head, sipped the last of the alcohol, and watched her reflection in the mirror above the bar. Now she would leave.

Before she could move, a sudden gust of cold air whipped into the bar, which immediately met grumbles and attempts to move closer to the walls of the small place before the door slammed shut. On instinct, Lisa glanced in the direction of the door, and what she saw there made her drop the olive back into the martini glass. She felt her jaw drop as well, but before she could say anything, Jackson Rippner was there next to her and spoke.

"Vodka or gin?"

The voice in her ear was like feeling an ice cube run down her spine on the hottest of Miami summers. She visibly shivered, and had to brace herself against the bar, clinging so hard her knuckles turned white.

"You," she whispered, half to herself. He smirked.

"Yup, Leese, me," he replied, reaching around her to grab the olive she'd dropped into the glass. He popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she stared at him in the mirror, the shock on her face dissipating into anger.

"I was saving that," she replied, swiveling the stool around as he dropped the spear the olive had been impaled on in the empty glass. He swallowed and smiled again.

"Well, there's no reason we can't get you another one," he said, leaning down to look her straight in the eyes, placing his hands on the stool's arm rests. She glared forcefully, tried to keep her heart from thumping straight out of her chest, and reasoned with herself that there were enough innocent parties in the bar to prevent him from making any sudden threats. The tiny voice in the back of her head reminded her that last time he hadn't had a problem with threatening her when there were innocents sitting not three feet away in the confined space of an airplane.

"So what will it be, Lisa?" he asked, moving an inch closer. Lisa held her ground, stared straight into his pale blue eyes, and answered him.

"Vodka martini," she ground out. "I get the olive."

"Noted," he said, eyes wavering over her face before putting in her order, adding in a whiskey for himself.

Lisa sat facing away from the bar, her body caged by the stool and Jackson's arms. As he placed the order, Lisa took a look at him, trying to force her cleared head back into working order. He looked thoroughly healed, and his voice had been similar as ever. He was the same in most ways, really, only with somewhat longer hair that seemed less sun-bleached than before. It was his clothing that threw her, as she'd seemed convinced that he'd been the well-dressed type. Now she knew that the stubble he'd had on the red eye should have tipped her off. He was a worn jeans and heather gray t-shirt person, a black leather jacket hiding the lethal, muscular lines of his body. Lisa ran her eyes up to his throat, secretly pleased to find that he hadn't healed perfectly. An irregular, pink scar marred his pale skin, a sign that he wasn't completely unstoppable.

"Now, I know your heart is just beating up a storm right now, Leese," he said in that deceptively calm, irritatingly sure voice. "But I have to have you forget about that for a second and promise me something."

"Well, that's going to depend on what you need me to promise, Jack," Lisa replied in an impressive effort to keep herself calm. Underneath she could feel her skin crawling.

The drinks arrived, were deposited on the polished bar, and with a curious look the bartender shifted off to other paying customers.

"I'm only asking that when I let go of your seat here, that you don't scream bloody murder, bring on the water works, or do anything to bring attention to yourself or me, which does include darting out of the bar and taking off for the nearest authority figure, okay?"

"That's a tall order," Lisa answered. "How do you think you're going to get me to comply with any of that?"

He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and leaned even further toward her to whisper just for her to hear: "Because the Sig Sauer nine millimeter I have with me insists upon it."

"I don't think that threat is going to hold much water when we're both in public," Lisa said, ever contradicting.

"Then I take you somewhere private," Jackson amended.

"Is that the purpose of this little visit?" Lisa asked, feeling her breath hitch in her throat and forcing herself to swallow it down.

"Actually, Lisa," he said, letting go of her seat and pushing away gracefully, reaching past her to pick up his drink. "You'll be happy to know that I'm shocked to see you."

Lisa watched him suspiciously as he sat in the empty seat next to her.

"What are you doing here, Jackson?" she asked in a lowered voice. "If this isn't about me, what is it about?"

"I never really took you as a self-centered person, Leese," he replied, sipping at his drink. "What, you don't believe in the random coincidence?"

"With you?" Lisa laughed shortly. "There is no random coincidence with you. Why are you _here_?"

"In a city of over eight million people, I can't be a resident?" he asked, his mouth quirking in amusement.

"No," Lisa stated firmly.

"Where would you have me live, then?" he replied.

"I don't know, Jackson," she answered. "I prefer not to think of you having any sort of life at all, and coming to that point, aren't you supposed to be, oh, not alive?"

"Last time you saw me I was very not dead, Leese," he pointed out. "Wherever did you hear the opposite?"

"National news," Lisa sighed, knowing what his reaction to that would be. He was already smiling. "The FBI notified me, Jackson. That seemed official enough."

"Do I need to bring up some X-Files reference concerning knowing who you can trust?" he asked. "Really, Leese, you're so easily led it's just sickeningly adorable."

"I think it's apparent that I don't trust _you_, Jack," Lisa said under her breath. "How many underlings do you have making sure I go along with your current plot? What do you need this time? Please cut through the bullshit and get to the point."

"Lisa, I'm dismayed that you think this is all bullshit," Jackson said, shrugging. "Here we are catching up and all you can talk about is work. It would be upsetting, but…"

"But nothing, Jackson," Lisa interrupted. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't cause a scene big enough to…"

"Because there are easier ways to do things," Jackson said, startling her by grabbing her wrist. "You're here, I'm here, and if you want things to get complicated for yourself then go ahead and cause that scene. The truth of the situation is this: you and I have been handed an unusual situation. Hell if I know why you're here, but this is the hand we're given and right now I'm more interested in getting us out of our current accidental mess to the satisfaction of all involved."

"There's your problem, then," Lisa replied with a smirk. "I don't really care about your satisfaction."

"And your problem is not thinking anything through," Jackson returned. "If I don't get my way in this I don't even have to bother being the one to personally make your life a living hell. I can always hire someone else to do that. You have so much to lose, Lisa."

"Wow, I didn't know you could delegate revenge," Lisa said, feigning indifference.

"You are such a mouthy thing," Jackson said, releasing her wrist. "It's really not helping your cause. I'm offering a simple way out of this and all I get back is a retort. Running in circles is highly maddening, Leese."

Rubbing her forehead and letting out a flustered sigh, Lisa finally broke down to reaching for the martini, taking a significant sip. Here she was being held hostage in public, wearing an evening gown, and her hostage taker was trying to convince her it was all an accident. Why did her life have to spiral into the realm of surreal? She knew she had only one choice: go along with things until she found her chance to break away and beat him back like she had before. Only this time while wearing an evening gown. She could do this.

"I don't believe you, you know," Lisa said, putting the less full martini glass back on the bar.

"I'm not asking you to," Jackson shrugged. "I just need you to keep that promise from before and walk out of this bar with me when you finish that drink. I'll take you back to whatever hotel you're staying at and keep on going. Then you can call the cops and tell your sob story."

"This is hardly a sob story," Lisa informed him.

"Oh, Leese, you wound me," Jackson replied without attempting a wince.

"You're not taking me back to my hotel, you know," Lisa said, going for the drink again, trying to speed this up.

"Why's that?"

"I'm not going to make this easier for you. On the off chance that you don't know where I'm staying, I'd like that to remain classified."

He said nothing, just chuckled and finished his drink. She watched him place the tumbler back on the bar and spin it with the tips of his fingers, seeming to keep himself busy as he waited on her.

"What?" she asked, unnerved by his silence.

"Nothing," he said. Then he quit spinning the empty glass, the ice clinking to a stop inside and beginning to melt. "It just amuses me that you think I wouldn't know how to find you within a relatively small time frame."

"How long is 'relatively small'?" Lisa asked, sipping her drink as he watched her with an intensity that had reeled her in since the moment she first saw him, which was a fact she very rarely admitted to herself.

"Depends on how motivated I am," Jackson shrugged, and said nothing more.

Lisa stared at him incredulously, feeling that white hot rage lick up her spine. "Just how motivated are you, then?"

"Currently, I'm more interested in seeing us go our separate ways," he told her. "Now drink up, Leese."

She was unsatisfied with his answer, but did not indicate that. Lisa took the last sip of her drink, ate the olive, and motioned to the door.

"Oh, after you," Jackson said. With a huff, Lisa collected her purse, slipped to the ground, and pushed her way past him and out into the cold. She was almost a little disappointed that there was no unmarked van waiting for her outside, and no masked men appearing out of nowhere to shove her into its open door. Instead there was the regular New York traffic and a steady stream of pedestrians for this ungodly hour. Lisa stood on the sidewalk and tried not to gape at this normal, regular sight.

"What were you expecting?" Jackson asked, walking out of the bar and stopping next to her as she stared at the street, then up and down the sidewalk. She looked at him. He was standing in the warm light of the bar, his hands in his jeans pockets and his best blank, innocent look on his face.

"The night is still young, you know," Lisa informed him.

"Is that a suggestion?" he asked. Lisa bit down lightly on the insides of her cheeks to keep from reacting.

"Can we just go?" she asked.

"By all means," he responded, heading down the sidewalk. Lisa settled into step next to him, listening to her high heels clack on the concrete as she kept her eyes open. She couldn't stop scanning the streets, feeling her heart rate kick up a notch every time they walked by a dark doorway or narrow alley. Jackson walked next to her, looking bored or at the very least eager to keep moving. He certainly wasn't ambling down the sidewalk. It was about right now that Lisa thought back to his comments about her being easily led and instantly she slowed.

"Come on, Leese," Jackson asked, sounding perturbed. Maybe a little aggravated. "I don't have all night here."

"No," Lisa said, her ire rising. "You can wait for a second, Jackson."

"What are you afraid of, Leese?" Jackson asked, turning around and coming up to her, invading her personal space just a little too much. Lisa bent back, looking the few inches up into his eyes.

"I don't think I need to spell it out for you," Lisa said, stiffening when he moved closer in response.

"Oh, Lisa," he smiled, his warm breath lingering across her lips. Lisa pulled back a step, disturbed by the closeness. A flicker of something crossed over his eyes before he set his jaw and moved forward again, pressing her right into the first in a row of benches.

"Do we need to go over that issue of trust again?" he asked. Lisa flinched as his hands found her hips, keeping her pinned to the back of the bench. "Think about this carefully. I'm a professional, Lisa. I'm not interested in revenge; it's an act of desperation. I am not desperate, nor am I at the end of my fucking rope. You are an unfortunate addition to my Friday night, and right now I just want to dump you off at your high end hotel and be gone. If that's a problem, say so and maybe we can change plans."

Lisa held her breath, stared at him and finally shook her head. "It's not a problem."

"Good," he said, letting her go and moving away, regaining his earlier bored mask. Lisa pulled herself together, tugged the shawl closer to her shoulders, and brushed past him, walking with purpose down the sidewalk. He followed along behind, gradually making up ground to walk besides her over the course of two blocks.

They stopped at a light, waiting for a pair of cars to pass before continuing on. The silence was putting Lisa on edge, and after another half-block she was compelled to ask him a question.

"I thought you said you were a horrible shot," she said. He glanced over at her.

"There's a difference between knowing how to use a hand gun effectively and how to complete a hit in a single shot with a sniper rifle," he informed her. "There's a reason a small number of people in the military are snipers, Leese. I can handle a hand gun, I assure you."

"You were in the military?" Lisa asked, preferring to stick to a new topic. He gave her a sharp look out of the corner of his eye and started to laugh. Honest-to-God laughter. Lisa sighed and noted that he'd never been in the military.

They came to a stop at another intersection and waited for the cars to pass. Before they could move across the street, the ever increasing noise of laughter made their way toward them. Lisa glanced to their left, taking in a couple weaving across the sidewalk in what looked like a very sloppy and very dangerous version of a Viennese waltz.

Almost as if it were destined to be, the dancing couple giggled and waltzed their way across the sidewalk, straight into a waiting concrete bench that did little to break their fall. Lisa instantly covered her mouth as she watched the two topple head over heels, crumpling on the sidewalk. Jackson watched with a bemused air, while a feminine shriek and sudden snapping noise encouraged Lisa into action.

Lisa darted down the sidewalk without thinking, helping the rather inebriated girl right herself as her partner fumbled to cling to the bench for support.

"Are you okay?" Lisa asked, trying to steady the girl and let go, only to see her wobble and cry out instantaneously.

There was some blubbering about the girl's wrist, and Lisa didn't have to take a look at it to know the girl had probably broken it in her fall.

"You've hurt your wrist," Lisa said, speaking as loudly and enunciating enough for a three-year-old to understand. "You may have broken it. Do you understand?"

A watery, pained look was all Lisa got in response. Lisa glanced down at the girl's partner, whom looked like he might be content with the bench for the rest of the night.

"Jackson!" she called, looking up the sidewalk to her very surprised captor.

"What, Leese?" he asked, refusing to move.

"Get a cab, okay?" she said loudly, steering the girl toward the street.

"Lisa, I don't think you really understand the deal here," Jackson replied, neglecting to move from his spot.

"Get a damned cab!" Lisa yelled at him. "I can always call off our deal, Jack."

She could practically see him roll his eyes from where she stood. The girl slumped further in Lisa's grasp and began to cry from what Lisa could only assume was the pain radiating up her arm. Jackson briskly walked up to her and out into the street, hailing down the next cab that came down the road.

The cab slowed and stopped next to them within moments, and Lisa had the girl standing upright and ready next to the curb.

"We need the closest hospital," Lisa instructed as soon as she got the back door open, scooting the girl into the backseat. Glancing back at the drunken male part of the dancing equation, Lisa frowned at the sight of him attempting to right himself and looked at Jackson.

"You have got to be kidding me," he replied.

"Fine," Lisa gritted her teeth. Then, to the girl: "Do you have any cash?"

A bleary stare was all Lisa was rewarded with, to which she also looked pointedly to Jackson.

"Sure, whatever," he sighed, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet, slipping bills out of the folds and handing them through to the driver. Lisa went back to the unidentified man, helping him upright and nearly being dragged down to the sidewalk by his weight.

Stumbling toward the cab, Lisa managed to get the man into the car and slammed the door shut. All three parties in the car looked genuinely bewildered, and as the driver pocketed the cash Jackson had handed him, Lisa reiterated what was going on. "She's probably got a broken wrist. If they forget where they're going, can you please remind them of that?"

An affirmative answer later, the cab pulled away from the curb and left Jackson and Lisa standing in its exhaust.

"So I see you haven't given up that hero complex of yours," Jackson asked dryly, looking after the cab for a moment before turning his startling eyes on hers. It was Lisa's turn to sneer.

"Looks like things haven't changed much, Jackson."

"Looks like, Leese," he smiled at her, then moved toward her, grabbing her wrist and tugging her off the curb, moving into the shadows of a narrow alley between two apartment buildings.

Lisa pushed at him with her free hand, shoving him away a mere few inches before he grabbed her other wrist and pinned her to the brick wall of the building. She could feel the delicate satin fibers of her dress catching on the bricks, probably ruining the dress, but Lisa was too busy spitting fire to care.

"What the hell, Jackson? Did you get bored with that offing me in private idea?"

"Would you just shut up for a moment?" he asked, and then froze, his whole body going rigid as he saw something Lisa couldn't. He loosened his grip on her wrists, pushing them down to her sides as he let a small, hissing breath escape his lips in what Lisa perceived as a quiet shush.

She rolled her eyes skyward, stood against the wall and waited for her moment. He moved into her, pressing her body further into the bricks to an almost uncomfortable point, his head moving so close to her own that she jerked back immediately, smacking her skull into the wall. He chuckled, and she cursed him under her breath.

"Hold on, Lisa," he told her, letting go of her wrists entirely in favor of digging his fingers into her hips, keeping her anchored in place while his mouth brushed against the skin behind her ear. "This will take about ten seconds of your time if you don't do anything creative."

Glancing out at the sidewalk, she could hear the rumble of an engine crawl toward them and then saw the white and blue nose of a patrol car making its rounds. Lisa felt Jackson's warm breath on her skin and tried to keep down a bubbling urge to laugh. She could practically feel herself smiling at the absurdity of the charade. Then she felt his mouth on the column of her throat and couldn't help her reaction. She jumped, tore her eyes from the patrol car slipping past, and lifted her hands to push him away. Screw his damned act. Why did she feel obligated to play along, anyway?

He intercepted her hands, snagged her fingers and intertwined them with his like they were lovers, and moved his mouth down her neck, eliciting a sudden, shallow gasp from Lisa. Almost immediately he dropped her left hand, preferring instead to work his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck, loosening the carefully placed bobby pins. The patrol car moved out of sight, yet Jackson's fingers dug further into her auburn hair, pulling on a bobby pin until he'd worked it entirely loose of her hair.

Lisa very vividly remembered watching him pocket the bobby pin, and then return his hand to her hair, twining his fingers through the loosened locks in order to softly tug her head back. His mouth traced a line to her bare shoulder, and Lisa barely managed to contain a shudder, hoping her reaction was that of pure disgust if not completely physical.

"Leese," he said slowly against her skin, bringing her predicament to a painful focus. She had to do something. She should push him away and run, flag down the patrol car and be ferried to safety. He was keeping her here, knowing the police had advanced far beyond noticing them, in order to keep her chances of finding a safe harbor unlikely. She knew exactly what he was doing, but then the way he started to move up her throat again threw her for a loop.

Her only option, as far as she could see, was to find a weapon. The only weapon available to her was his. Tentatively, she placed a hand on his side, letting her little finger graze along next to the beltline of his jeans. She moved her hand along his waist, hoping she'd find what she was looking for at the small of his back. God, she hoped she'd find what he had promised her was there. He never lied, after all. Never.

"Looking for something?" he asked, not bothering to move his mouth from where her neck met shoulder, as her fingers searched his back.

"I…" she replied hoarsely, licking her lips, trying to recover from the revelation that nothing was there. No holstered weapon, nothing nudged into the waistband of his jeans, nothing.

She didn't have time to say anything else. His mouth closed on the trapezius muscle between her neck and shoulder, biting down and sending a shiver running hard down her spine. Lisa let out a shocked cry that he did not attempt to smother. She clenched one hand into the muscles of his lower back, digging her fingers in through shirt and skin as far as she was able until he released her entirely, leaving her leaning against the wall and breathing hard.

Immediately she moved her hand to the place where he'd marked her with teeth, staring at him as she heaved in breath after breath.

"You look good all mussed, Leese," he told her, standing not four feet away, nearly touching the opposite wall of the alley.

"You bastard," she hissed, opening her purse with shaky hands to grab the only weapon available to either of them – her pepper spray.

"Oh, hold that thought, Lisa," he said, sounding bored again, far from his previous amusement.

"Just leave me alone, Jackson," Lisa told him. "Okay? Leave me here. Please go."

"Are you thinking you hold all the cards now?" he asked, a sardonic smile crawling up his lips.

"I'm thinking you lied, Jackson," Lisa said replied, trembling so hard she could feel the pepper spray coming loose in her fingers. She held her breath for a moment, hardening her grasp on the bottle.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Whatever serves me, Leese."

"So what, your word can't be trusted now?" Lisa asked, glancing nervously from him to the road.

"You want the truth, Lisa?" he asked, coming toward her again. She lifted the pepper spray. He smiled.

"Yes," Lisa replied, voice trembling.

"Okay," he said, running a hand through his dark hair and then pinning her with his light eyes. "The truth is that I'm letting you go. So go."

Lisa stared at him. "And your job?"

"Has nothing to do with you," he responded.

She bit her lower lip, and then went to ask: "What does it have to do with?"

He smiled. "That's classified, Leese."

She stiffened her spine when he came back up to her, let him so close to touching his lips to her skin, and hardened when he said softly into her ear, "Go."

Then, just like that, he pushed himself from the side of the building and walked out onto the sidewalk. Lisa stared, flabbergasted, at his retreating figure. He disappeared from her view without a pause in his step and Lisa was alone again, her pepper spray still clutched in one hand and her shawl beginning to fall loose from her arms.

She could not believe it, and oddly she found herself torn between running to find the authorities and following him, which she knew would have been a fool's venture. She felt the urge nonetheless, and that was what spurred her out of her shocked stillness. Pulling her shawl around her chilled skin, Lisa shoved the pepper spray violently back into her purse and strode out of the alleyway, looking up and down the sidewalk for any sign of him. He was, of course, no where to be seen.

Suppressing a shiver, Lisa headed back to the hotel, stepping quickly over the concrete and not stopping until she was back in the warmth of the Waldorf Astoria lobby. She felt absolutely no security here, and did not find any even after she requested that the hotel staff call the police and the authorities came in the white and blue cars and crawled over the hotel like ants looking for something that didn't exist.

Her room was swept twice. After two hours of talking with authorities and insisting on a watch outside her door, Lisa entered her hotel room and searched through it herself, thinking she'd gone mad while refusing to believe any promise of Jackson's. After tearing the room apart, having no clue what she was doing, Lisa stood trembling in the center of the small, overly elegant room and then sat down on the double bed, putting her head in her hands.

Lisa ran through every word Jackson had said to her over the night, moving her hands from her forehead to the back of her neck in an attempt to squeeze the stress away. All she encountered was the loose clump of hair he'd tugged out of the bobby pins that held the mass of dark waves in place. She felt disgusted with herself. Allowing him that sort of access? It was unthinkable. So Lisa pulled out each one of the pins, letting them fall to the floor. Then she shook out her hair, running her fingers through it before standing up and shedding the dress and shoes, changing into something softer to sleep in – something easier to run in.

He had told her his job didn't involve her. Lisa wanted to know what job he was talking about, and she told the police exactly what he had said. There was a job. It had to be a New York job. She didn't believe for an instant that he lived here. Jackson didn't just live somewhere. Lisa couldn't see him holding possessions, having a lease, owning a building. He owned the clothes on his back, as far as she knew. She didn't like to think of him as human enough to own more.

She crawled onto the bed, shoved the pillows up against the headboard, and leaned back against them with her feet nudged underneath the warmth of the comforter. After a few minutes it was too quiet, and she snatched up the remote to the television, flipping through the channels of infomercials before settling on some three hour paid program on a cleaning product. Lisa stared at the screen, watching an overly energetic woman scrub blood out of an off-white carpet square. She didn't know when it was, exactly, that she finally fell asleep.

Lisa typically never woke up at dawn, but when the first blush of daylight spilled onto Manhattan and through the gauzy curtains of her hotel room, Lisa was awake in an instant. She was curled up diagonally across the bed, her feet pressed against the headboard, indicating she'd slept hard and fitfully, although she didn't remember dreaming. The television was still running paid programming. Lisa turned it off without looking at it and glanced quickly around the room.

Curiously, Lisa slipped off the bed and padded carefully across the carpet, peering through the peep hole at her stationed guard. He was still sitting in his chair, turning a page in the book he was reading.

"God, I'm going mad," she muttered to herself, pushing her hair back and blinking wearily. Entering the bathroom, Lisa splashed her face with cold water, hoping she wouldn't look like she'd gotten only three hours of sleep. Looking up into the mirror, she winced at the dark circles under her eyes before letting her gaze fall down to the side of her neck, just before her shoulder, and noticed the yellow bruising forming on her skin.

Gaping at her reflection, she covered the new bruise with her palm and tried to remember if she'd brought a shirt with a high collar. God, she hoped she had. Pulling her hand away from the bruise, she glared at it and hoped for Jackson's sake that he'd never see her again.

Lisa wound up buying new tops for the rest of the conference, successfully hiding the ugly yellow mark that darkened and only looked worse before it would heal. She went back to Miami three days later, but couldn't hide the mark from Cynthia and the Lux Atlantic staff, which sent everyone to whispering. Lisa neither confirmed nor denied anything, not even knowing where to start with the real story.

A day after Lisa arrived back in Miami, news broke of the suspected assassination of Laurent White, president of the Republic of Liberia, during his first visit to the United Nations. No terrorist organization claimed responsibility, and the authorities had no leads.


End file.
